"Ow—my bones…"
The deafening crash of metal still echoed in their ears. Fred groaned, clutching his sore, aching back as he sat up amidst a heap of clattering metal scraps.
Dust billowed.
A stench of rust and decay invaded his nose.
"Where are we?" he asked blankly, scanning the surroundings. Everywhere he looked were scattered helmets, gauntlets, and breastplates, like a forsaken graveyard of knights.
"Looks like we triggered a… trap?"
Lee Jordan's voice trembled slightly, his nerves still frayed from the sudden fall. He leaned against the wall, patting the dust from his robes with a lingering shiver.
Alan said nothing.
He only swept a sharp, watchful gaze around the dim chamber.
Inside his mind palace, thoughts raced at breakneck speed. Streams of data cascaded like waterfalls, replaying the abrupt fall frame by frame, magnifying every detail for analysis.
That word—dirty sock…
Why?
Was it some specific combination of syllables that triggered an ancient form of voice-activated runes? Or perhaps, when they shouted it, the mix of emotions—teasing, fatigue, and a trace of impatience—had combined to form the true key that unlocked the mechanism?
Just as his analytical model was on the verge of completion, a sudden sound broke through his thoughts.
"Hehe…"
The laugh was soft, yet in the deathly silence of the chamber it rang out with startling clarity. It came from a corner of the room, behind the tallest heap of broken armor.
At once, the four of them tensed.
A small figure cheerfully emerged from the shadows. Short in stature, with a mop of fluffy white hair and a kindly smile etched onto his face.
It was none other than their Charms professor, Filius Flitwick.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
Flitwick's eyes glimmered faintly in the dimness. He studied the four bedraggled students, and instead of showing surprise, his face bore the satisfaction of someone whose expectations had finally been met.
"It seems that a little puzzle I set in my youth has finally been solved today."
"Professor?"
Fred, George, Lee Jordan, and Alan blurted out together, their voices ringing with disbelief.
Hands folded behind his back, Professor Flitwick strolled forward, smiling as though he were admiring a prized masterpiece.
"Yes, it was me," he explained cheerfully. "That door—or rather, that trap—was a creation of mine back in my student days. At the time, I was utterly fascinated by the mysteries of sound-based magic."
He pointed toward the ceiling above, where they had fallen through.
"Its unlocking mechanism was never a single word or phrase. That would've been far too simple—something anyone could brute-force with trial and error. No, what I designed was an incredibly intricate sonic key."
There was pride in his voice—the pride of a true creator.
"It required a specific pitch, a specific frequency, and even… a very particular state of emotion. Only when those three aligned in perfect harmony could a unique soundwave be formed, one capable of activating the hidden runes."
Professor Flitwick's gaze swept across the four of them, tinged with a faint trace of emotion.
"The purpose of my design was to test a wizard's wit and creativity when faced with adversity, rather than mere magical strength. Over the years, countless bright students have tried to solve it, using every spell and word they could think of—but all failed."
He paused, and his tone turned slightly peculiar.
"Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that today, it would be… well, accidentally solved by the words dirty sock."
At that, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan all felt their cheeks burn as they lowered their heads in unison.
It was over.
Not only had they been caught sneaking out at night, they'd also triggered a trap their professor had left behind during his student days. The punishment would surely be doubled.
But Alan, after a brief flicker of surprise, quickly regained his composure.
Within his mind palace, every word Professor Flitwick had spoken was captured, broken down, and reorganized. Keywords like pitch, frequency, and emotion aligned perfectly with the deduction model he had already constructed.
"Professor, I understand now."
He stepped forward to meet Flitwick's gaze, his tone not that of a student caught in the act, but of a scholar participating in an academic symposium.
"So, the core of this magical puzzle lies in the 'resonance effect produced by specific syllable combinations under specific conditions,' which in turn triggers the underlying logic of the runes. The meaning of the phrase itself is irrelevant."
Alan's voice was clear and steady, echoing through the empty chamber.
"Its activation is essentially an acoustical problem, not a linguistic one. A very elegant logical trap."
Flitwick's smile froze.
The next moment, his eyes burst forth with an unprecedented brilliance—the joy of discovering a rare treasure, the elation of finding a true kindred spirit.
"Exactly! Mr. Scott! You're absolutely right!"
He clapped his hands excitedly, his small frame erupting with boundless energy, his voice leaping several octaves higher.
"Oh, Merlin's beard! Finally! At last, someone who truly understands the reasoning behind my design!"
He nearly circled Alan, looking him up and down with an expression full of admiration and approval.
"Logic! Yes! At its depths, magic too is filled with rigorous logic—not just stale mysticism!"
The twins and Lee Jordan stood dumbstruck, their minds utterly blank.
Wait a second… wasn't this development a little off?
Professor Flitwick reveled in his excitement for a good while before remembering the matter at hand. Clearing his throat, he resumed the posture of a proper professor.
"As for your little nighttime excursion…"
The trio tensed once again.
"Although it was against school rules," Flitwick's tone shifted, "in light of Mr. Scott's success in solving a riddle that has gone unsolved for decades, and for displaying a wisdom and insight surpassing even Ravenclaw's finest… I award Gryffindor twenty points!"
"…"
Fred, George, and Lee Jordan could hardly believe their ears.
From expecting punishment to suddenly earning house points—the reversal came so fast their minds nearly crashed.
"And furthermore, Mr. Scott," Professor Flitwick added with a smile, extending a formal invitation, "if you have any interest in topics such as Recreational Charmcraft or the acoustic applications of ancient runes, my office door is always open to you. We could explore many fascinating subjects together."
Thus, this accidental night adventure ended in a way no one could have predicted.
It brought no punishment at all.
Instead, it earned Alan the favor of a knowledgeable professor—and an honor that would surely turn every head in the school.
~~----------------------
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